


Orisons

by historymiss



Category: Gideon the Ninth
Genre: F/F, Here be spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/pseuds/historymiss
Summary: Is a fancy word for funeral rites. In which Harrow is weird and morbid, so, you know. Harrow.





	Orisons

This is wrong.

All of it is wrong, honestly: things haven’t stopped being wrong since Harrow got on the shuttle to the First House, or maybe they started becoming wrong when she stepped over the threshold of the Locked Tomb, all kiddish bravado and dark self hatred, looking for an excuse to quiet the two hundred ghosts in her head.

More specifically, though, this is wrong: that Gideon Nav is gone, and Harrow cannot mourn her.

There are no Ninth House rituals for this. For the not exactly passing of a fake cavalier, for a funeral with no chapel, no bones and no body. No proper words to mark something that has changed Harrow so completely. Never mind that Gideon herself would hate any ceremony that didn’t involve five hundred weeping, naked women, six nights of obnoxiously loud fireworks, and the ceremonial burning of Harrow herself at the stake.

Harrow rubs her eyes. That last bit was either not true anymore or definitely top of the list, and neither way of looking at it eased the great, gaping hole in her chest.

So. No paint, no robes, no body. Harrowhark should probably leave it at that, but then again, she has always been, according to Gideon herself, a morbid little shit.

Shittily, morbidly, she presses her hand to her chest.

Takes a breath.

“I pray that the tomb is shut forever-“

Stops.

Not those words. Not for Griddle.

“I pray that your body is never found. I pray that you’re somewhere far away. I pray that there are big-titted women who laugh at terrible jokes. I pray that there is sunlight.”

Somewhere in that, she’s started crying. The ugly kind, with snot. 

“I pray that you’re happy, you ass. Fuck you.”


End file.
